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Mordaunt seized her by the elbow and pulled her away.

“Sorry, mate,” he said to the naked man. “Wrong counter.”

The man nodded in friendly understanding. He had the largest penis that Aurienne had ever seen. It nodded, too. Mordaunt steered Aurienne towards the rightmost corridor. The penis all but waved goodbye at them.

“We’re here for the baths, not your breeding kink,” said Mordaunt.

“That man was remarkably well-endowed,” said Aurienne.

“They call him the Clydesdale. Since he’s so fascinated you, you can go have a play with him, but only after we’ve done the healing. Business first.”

“Thank you, but no,” said Aurienne.

“No?”

“Two words for you: bruised cervix.” Aurienne, still watching the Clydesdale over her shoulder, asked, “What do you suppose he does with it when it’s not erect?”

“Drapes it round his neck, like a feather boa,” said Mordaunt.

He dropped coins into an attendant’s hand. “Two tickets for the baths, please.”

They proceeded towards the baths by descending a steep stairway leading into a sort of underground spa. Steam rooms and massage rooms opened up on either side of them.

They came across a small group watching a show. The show consisted of a man performing autofellatio. Aurienne had to pause to admire the man’s spinal flexion.

“Thatis some impressive lumbar sagittal mobility,” said Aurienne.

The man uncorked himself with a pop and said, “Thank you.”

Mordaunt stared at Aurienne with a raised eyebrow, but led her onwards without comment.

The air grew steamier as they descended into the bowels of the Unicorn. Finally, they came to a low-ceilinged room lined with curtained-off rooms.

Aurienne assumed that these were for more sex things—privacy booths, perhaps?

However, an attendant came her way, gave her a white towel, and drew her towards one of the booths. Another attendant did the same with Mordaunt.

Aurienne’s attendant saw her confusion and offered an explanation: “Oh—is it your first time here? You’ve got to shower before entering the baths. There’s a basket for your clothes. The towel is only for modesty purposes. Please don’t take it into the water.”

The attendant pulled open the curtain to reveal a shower, which she switched on for Aurienne.

Aurienne glanced at Mordaunt to see how he was taking this turn of affairs. She caught a twist of amusement across his scarred lips before he disappeared behind his own curtain. So he thought this was funny, did he? He was having a grand time, was he? That was fine. She would soon be putting a damper on his mood with another failed healing. Let the Fyren enjoy himself while he could; he was a dead man walking.

Her mood bolstered by the thought of Mordaunt’s inevitable demise, Aurienne showered. She tucked her telltale Haelan dress and satchel at the very bottom of the basket and passed it to the attendant.

Aurienne exited the shower wrapped in the Modesty Purposestowel. It offered the barest covering of tit and arse. The amiable attendant offered her a hooked stick with various protrusions, which she said was for trigger-point massages. Aurienne took it, grateful to have something to hold to hide the tacn on her palm.

Mordaunt waited for her at the entrance of the baths, dripping wet and wrapped in his own towel.

Aurienne was no stranger to communal bathing, which was the norm at Swanstone. The prospect of a shared soak with a Fyren, however, was as novel as it was unattractive. She knew, rationally, that his moral degradation couldn’t leech into the waters and infect her, but the notion of stewing together was nevertheless repugnant.

Mordaunt asked how he looked. Aurienne didn’t answer, given that he was addressing a large looking glass, for whose benefit he ran his fingers through his wet hair and adjusted his towel lower on his hips. However, she discovered that the query had been directed at her when he turned to her and said, “Hello?”

Aurienne swept a look of assessment his way. The Fyren’s state of undress revealed agreeable proportions: a well-developed chest, shapely calves, lines from shoulder to foot suggesting grace and athleticism. But he dripped with moral obscenities as well as water, and Aurienne would not be contributing to his smugness by conceding any of it. He was a Fine Specimen in the way an abscess might be a Fine Specimen; the best, most shapely, most beautiful abscess in the world still brimmed with foulness and ought to be incised and drained.

As her kindly attendant was passing by, Aurienne opted for civility and said that Mordaunt was Not Objectionable.

“Not objectionable?” repeated Mordaunt.“Not objectionable?”